By a Friend's Hand
by Niroveka
Summary: First Place Winner for the Mellon Chronicles Jan. FF Contest. They are the best of friends, they will die for each other...but what will happen when they are cast into a unknown world, and are forced to live their worst nightmare? NONSLASH


By a Friend's Hand 

The iron cage opened slowly, it's ancient hinges creaking with misuse. It led into an arena, filled with packed sand, making an uneven floor, difficult to walk on. Aragorn found this out as he was flung into the arena by rough hands. The brilliant sunlight blinded him, making him hide his eyes; after being in the dungeons for so many days, he had almost forgotten how bright and painful light could be.

Though blinded, his hearing was not impaired in the least. A thunderous noise was coming from somewhere above him; what it was he could not imagine. Then it hit him; it was applause. As his eyes finally focused, he looked up and saw vast crowds of beings cheering and waving. What the creatures were he could not tell, but whatever they were, he had the feeling that he didn't want to know.

The massive iron gate shut behind him with a loud, echoing roar, and he realized there was no going back. He would never leave this place.

Ever since they had started out on their journey back to Rivendell, the youths had been aware that darkness was in their path, but from what cause they had no idea. It had not boded well the past few weeks, in either Mirkwood or Rivendell. When Elrond requested Aragorn return immediately, he had agreed without thought, Legolas insisting on accompanying him. Aragorn wondered what had happened to him, wishing now that the elf had not journeyed with him.

They had been separated only a few days ago, though it seemed an eternity. The friends had put up a vicious fight, refusing with all their will not to be separated, knowing they might not see each other again. Aragorn rubbed his jaw to relieve its dull ache; it was still sore from where he had been slammed into the stone wall while Legolas was dragged off.

Aragorn remembered hearing Legolas' desperate attempts not to be taken, and then finally had been silenced. He dreaded what the silence meant. Now, in the bright sunlight, with the deafening roar of the crowd, and the merciless heat of the warmed sand, Aragorn prayed to Elbereth, Illuvatar, anyone who would listen: 'Please, do not let Legolas' fate be as brutal as mine is about to be. Protect him, wherever he is. Let him know that I will always be there with him.'

Suddenly, another burst of applause sounded above him. The cage across the stadium creaked open, and Aragorn's heart leapt. Legolas was thrown in. He immediately fell to his knees from the brute force, and he braced himself, his face almost touching the gritty sand.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried. He ran to his friend's side, stumbling over the sand in his rush. The elf's sides heaved with apparent difficulty, and Aragorn could see that his friend had been abused. It angered him. Small bruises marred the fair elven skin on his right cheek and jaw, and the corner of his mouth was bloodied from a harsh cuff by some ill-favored orc guard.

"Legolas, are you alright?" Aragorn placed a hand on his friend's back and looked down, trying to meet his friend's eyes. "What did they do to you?"

Legolas inhaled once more, and then straightened. "I'm fine," he said evasively, holding his body tense against the aches. He sat back, and looked around, his eyes also straining against the ferocious sun. "Where on earth are we?"

"I have no idea, but I don't like the looks of..."

A horn sounded from somewhere above. The crowd cheered wildly, and began to chant some strange noise; even the ranger, skilled in so many languages, had no remote concept of what they were saying. But they had not long to wait. Once more, the great iron doors drew open and the object of the crowd's glee came into full view.

Four pairs of beady, yellow eyes glared at them, white fangs glistening with saliva snapped at them. Orc guards standing above them on the arena wall tossed the ranger a short sword, and the elf, a spear. Neither was very sharp, but the warriors had little time to think about it. They stood tensed and ready, and drew closer together, giving what little comfort they could.

"So this is our destiny," Legolas murmured, disgustedly. "To be puppets on a string for the evil to enjoy."

Aragorn said nothing; only his gray-blue eyes shifted from warg to warg, and his hand tightened on his hilt. "Courage, _mellon-nin,_ courage. Whatever happens, we'll go through it together." The ranger looked at his friend with hope in his eyes. Legolas nodded once, and his own blue eyes darkened with determination.

"Together," he reaffirmed. "That sounds like a good way to do it." Aragorn began to grin, but just then, the wargs charged.

The sun crept high in the sky. The stench of dead warg bodies permeated the stadium, making the crowds to hold their noses against the sickening wave that swept over them. But still, they lost none of their vigor and excitement, and they applauded loudly as the newest gladiator finished off the last of his attackers.

Aragorn threw the massive, hair-covered body aside with disgust and knelt on one knee, regaining his breath. The attack had been long and hard-fought, and Aragorn wondered how Legolas and he had managed to stay alive.

It had been one attack after another. As soon as the elf and ranger killed one, another starved, half-crazed warg was released from the cages. Finally, the onslaught stopped, and the friends were free to take as long as they liked to kill the rest.

Legolas appeared over his friend's shoulder. "Are you alright?" his soft voice was soothing to Aragorn's adrenaline-filled body. He nodded.

"You?" He took the proffe and stood up.

"Yes, thank the gods." The elf's eyes smoldered with righteous anger, and he looked up into the stands, watching the audience's mirth. He moaned within himself, and looked back at his companion. "The next will only be worse."

Aragorn understood. They were here till they died, either fighting in the arena, or being slaughtered in the dungeons. Either way, there was no going home.

Home...Rivendell...The ranger wished he could have seen it one more time; seen his brother's eyes light up when the story-telling began, seen his father's smile when he entered the room...seen Arwen...Undomiel...

Legolas' touch on his arm snapped him back to reality. The elf was staring up at the terrace overlooking the arena. Aragorn followed his gaze and apprehen-sion filled his heart.

Previously unseen by the warriors, a man on the platform stood up from his chair. He leaned on the balustrade and glared down at the young men. "Well done, I must say," his icy voice echoed strangely in the open air.

It made the audience hysterical with delight. "Gal-roond! Gal-roond!" they shouted. Aragorn and Legolas grimaced from the loudness of it. Who was this man that apparently everyone worshiped? And what did he want with them?

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," Gal-roond seemed to sense their thoughts. "And you're probably wondering who I am and what I'm going to do with you."

Aragorn went rigid. "What does he think we want?" he muttered under his breath.

Legolas picked it up though. "Patience, Estel," the elf used his friend's elvish name to quiet him. "Don't let him see you upset. Then he wins."

Gal-roond spoke again. "Well, the only thing I'm going to tell you is this: you're here for our own benefit..."

A burst of applause.

"...Our will..."

Another burst of applause.

"...And by _my _command."

A huge roar from the crowd made Legolas cover his sensitive ears. The friends glared back at their captor. "A coward...That's all he is...a coward!" It was Legolas' turn to be infuriated. Aragorn put a hand on the elf's chest, reassuring him as the elf had done for him. "Wait. Let him finish."

Gal-roond held up a hand to still the audience. "Oh, and by the way, we people of Ered Mithrin are very pleased you decided to venture out into the wild; elves and rangers are so hard to catch when they stay inside their protective forests all the time." An ugly smile spread across the man's face, and he crossed his arms. "So, this is a rare occasion. I hope that you both enjoy it."

The color drained from Legolas and Aragorn's face. The smile faded from Gal-roond's own face and he motioned to the orcs standing on the wall above the captives.

Aragorn turned to face the gate, presumably waiting for whatever might dash out from its iron-filled mouth, but Legolas kept his eyes on the man receding back into the darkness of the covered terrace.

When he could see him no longer, the elf turned back to his friend. "Ered Mithrin," he said, knowingly. Aragorn looked at him, questioningly. "Yes. I don't know that name."

Legolas contradicted him, nodding. "Withered Heath. There are bands of orcs and wild-men that live there. They've come to our borders before, searching for ones like us, I suppose." He turned to the gate like his friend and held his spear in both hands. "I fear how many of our kind have been lost to their tortuous schemes."

Aragorn had no reply. Suddenly he wondered.

Nothing had happened. The arena was quiet and still, even the creatures in the stadium had at last been silenced. It foreboded ill in the Dunadan's mind. "What are they waiting for?"

Legolas sensed the evil too. His dark eyes searched the walls; two of the orc guards had scaled down a ladder into the arena behind them. They now approached the youths, one holding a sturdy mace, and the other, long, heavy-looking chains.

"Aragorn!" The elf pivoted around and faced the creatures. Aragorn followed his example abruptly, fearing what he was about to do. Killing animals was one thing, humanoid life was another. Yet, he gripped the sword-hilt tighter, his knuckles turning white with disgust and dread.

But the orcs did not appear to be interested in him. They crept up toward Legolas until they were four feet in front of him. Legolas stepped back, bracing himself for their next move.

"Drop it," the orc with the mace spoke to him.

It took them both by surprise, but Legolas did not comply.

"Do it, or this one dies!" the crackly voice almost screeched with glee and a look of hunger crept into his eyes. To emphasize his words, the guards atop the walls pulled their bows tight and aimed carefully down at Aragorn, who looked back up at them with defiance in his eyes. "Don't do it, Legolas, they're trying to get your guard down...Don't!"

It was too late. The spear was dropped to the ground and the elf's hands were quickly manacles together, the chains clinking loudly.

Aragorn made to defend him, but the first orc was too quick for him. Aragorn felt the mace under his chin, and he froze. The sword was jerked away from him. He wanted to wrest it back out of the orc's hand, but a look from Legolas stopped him.

Aragorn held his wrath in check, until Legolas was finally pulled away. Only then was the mace removed from his throat, and his sword thrown back to him. He caught it with lightening reflexes, but in his defiance he cut his hand. He hissed, more in anger than pain, and he clenched his fist tight.

Legolas was dragged roughly across the arena, to a tall pole that stood at the far end. One of the orcs scaled it quickly, with the aid of short pegs stuck into the trunk, making something of a ladder. The chains were fastened at the top, and then Legolas was left there helpless, his arms stretched to the limit over his head. He looked back at Aragorn, who had just reached him. As the orcs moved off, the young Dunedan looked up the pole, anguish filling his mind. There was nothing he could do; the chains were so thick that any attempts to cut them away would be useless, and there was no way to pick the locks.

Aragorn looked Legolas in the eye. "What am I supposed to do?"

Legolas' eyes suddenly went wide as he looked over Aragorn's shoulder, and he inhaled quickly, fear flooding over him.

Aragorn's brows knitted in puzzlement, but he turned to look. His blood froze.

A gray-skinned, scaly cave-troll stood over him. A sharp scream echoed through the stadium, and the young friends knew he would fight to the death.

The creature swept a massive paw at Aragorn, causing him to jump backwards. He recovered quickly and brought down his blade with all the strength he had on the out-stretched hand. Nothing.

Aragorn looked up in astonishment. The troll seemed to almost smile at him, as if asking him, "That was it?"

The beast used the ranger's momentary pause to his advantage. The other hand came down on top of him, his sharpened claws finding their way into the human's flesh.

Legolas winced in near panic as a cry was wrenched out of his friend's lips. The ranger fell back, clutching his chest, but was up again with elf-like agility.

The cave-troll squealed as Aragorn's blade pierced through his exposed middle, but continued his approach toward the helpless elven-captive. He shrugged the ranger off, throwing Aragorn to the side. Aragorn landed face down, sand filling his mouth and nose, sticking to his eyes, but he was up almost immediately, running after the monster.

Legolas set his muscles, and fire burned in his eyes. Though defenseless, the elf would not go willingly, and his mind raced as he thought through his few options.

He did not have to execute one yet, for Aragorn deterred the troll's attention for the moment. Throwing himself in the creature's path, he thrust his sword forward, forcing the troll to give him ground. The creature grunted and flared his nostrils, blood lust and hatred seething through him. Though he could have easily seized the man in one hand, the fire and determination in the young man was one the brute was not accustomed to fighting.

Aragorn stared the beast in the eyes, unafraid of the evil in his opponent. His sword glinted in the sun, his grayish eyes like a storm over the sea. Anger smoldered in Aragorn's heart: anger at Gal-roond, anger at the creature before him...anger with himself for allowing his best friend to come with him in the first place. He sighed. It was all his fault; he had thought about it for days in the dungeons, but now he fully admitted to himself. They would both die because of his mistake.

Aragorn thought this in a flash as he stood guard over the defenseless Legolas. He sized up his opponent, looking for any weakness. There were none that he could see...

'Wait,' an idea flashed into his mind. 'The neck.' The flesh was soft there, if he could just get around the giant iron collar...

The troll attacked without warning, nostrils flaring. The applause was deafening. Unseen by any, Gal-roond smiled sardonically. He hunched down in his seat, anticipation pulsing through him. It would be great fun to break their spirits, if they survived this monster...

The ranger had little time to think. So, he reacted. With his head down like a charging bull, the troll made for the young ranger, hoping to take down both his prey in one swift motion. When the massive beast was within inches of him, Aragorn leapt onto his neck and hung on for dear life. Though this slowed the beast, he did not stop.

Legolas' heart paced quicker. He had only a few seconds to react.

The troll headed straight towards him, ignoring Aragorn's frantic attempts to stab at his neck. His prize was before him, and his bloodthirstiness could no longer be held back. The troll slammed into the pole with all his might, and the deadly sickening crunch that followed made Aragorn's heart stop.

The dust had settled. The audience sat in dumb amazement, watching the Dunedan climb off of the defeated cave-troll, his bloodied sword having finally found its way into the soft flesh. The wooden beam lay beside the beast, smashed into pieces on the ground.

Aragorn looked around for his friend, fearing the worst. The elf's prostrate form lay nearby, still chained to the post. Aragorn ran forward, kicking the shattered wood away from him. He knelt next to his friend, and put his hand out slowly, but could not touch him.

"Legolas?"

The prince groaned and coughed out the sand that had filled his lungs.

"Legolas!" Aragorn felt like shouting with joy and disbelief. "You're alive! I didn't think it possible...!" He helped his friend sit up; there were no signs of new bruises or injuries.

"I'm alright, Estel." The elf breathed deeply and coughed again, clearing his lungs. "He hit the post, not me. Thankfully the chains were slack enough that I could dodge him."

"You had me worried...I thought I had failed you."

The elf looked at him. "You could never fail me, my friend."

Gal-roond nearly jumped from his seat. At last, the final competition. This would be more exciting than he had previously thought; with such strong and courageous warriors in his arena, the audience was sure to have a treat. He clapped his hands together, drawing the people's attention.

"And now for the main event. Drithlag?"

An orc snapped to attention beside him.

"Make sure our guests have everything they need. This will be quite a challenge for them."

"How long?" Legolas voiced Aragorn's thoughts. He turned to the elf that still lay half-risen beside him.

"However long it takes, I suppose," he said grimly.

"Estel, take courage." The elf's hand was on his shoulder, and his crystal eyes looked deep into his. "Remember your name; there is still hope. We will see the end of this, and I will be proud to stand beside you. We are _mellon-nin; _I will never abandon you, even in death. We will die together."

Aragorn nodded, then was roughly dragged away by three, leather-covered orcs, even more ugly than the first. Legolas was unchained and then, along with his companion pulled to the center of the arena, where another orc stood waiting for them. As they were pushed and pulled along, Gal-roond's voice broke the silence.

"One final task is before you. Only after this task is completed will you be set free."

The elf and human's heart leapt with hope.

"Free from life, that is. Oh, yes," he smiled at the grief that flooded his prisoner's faces. "Yes, death is the only way either of you will leave this place. But when and how each of you dies will be up to the other."

Aragorn's went wide-eyed with fear. Legolas went stiff. They looked up at the roofed porch above them.

Gal-roond's grin was sickening. "Each of you shall choose a weapon, now." He pointed down to two of the orcs standing beside them. In their hands, the goblins held two weapons each: a double-handed sword, an orcish scimitar, a mace and a long knife.

The friends looked from the porch to each other and back again. The man's meaning, though menacing, was still unclear. But they knew they had to choose, or some disastrous torture would be laid upon them both.

As Gal-roond had predicted, they both chose the weapon they had been captured with; Legolas chose the knife, Aragorn, the sword. Each hefted it in their hands, not knowing what to do, or expect.

"Now," the dark man's voice grated down on them. "Fight!" The stadium exploded with cheers and screams of delight.

Legolas looked at Aragorn. Aragorn stared back. 'What?" The youth barely had any voice.

"FIGHT!" Gal-roond roared, and the crowd backed up his command. "Yes, FIGHT, to the DEATH!"

"No," Aragorn whispered. Legolas just stood wide-eyed, the knife hanging limply in his hand.

It couldn't be. They were to kill each other.

"But, I must warn you both," Gal-roond's voice was cheerful. "The one who _loses_ is the blessed one."

The captives looked back up in anguished horror.

"The winner...gets this."

Orcs on the far side of the arena wheeled in a cart filled with wood. A sturdy post stood upright in the midst of it, and several of the goblins held torches in their hands.

The meaning was now clear. One of them would die by fire, the other, by his friend's hand.

Gal-roond dashed their last option to pieces.

"If neither of you fight, or you try to escape in some _futile _attempt, _both_ of you will die by fire. So, choose your next course of action carefully. It's the last choice you'll ever make." He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him; they howled, and hooted, roared and screeched a haughty, cruel, long laugh that engraved itself into Legolas' and Aragorn's memory.

They looked at each other, bewilderment and hopelessness in their eyes. Aragorn's voice caught in his throat. "I can't," he whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

"You must," Legolas answered desperately; his heart was ripped out as he spoke. "If one of us can be spared, let us look on it as a mercy."

Estel looked at him, and he shook his head in disbelief. "No!" his entire body screamed in desperation. But Legolas was right: he couldn't stand to see his friend suffer that way; he would rather take it himself.

As the enormity sank in, Aragorn unwillingly tensed, drawing himself into an offensive position. Legolas nodded his head, having come to the same conclusion. Neither of them could allow the other to die the most painful death imaginable, not if there was some way to prevent it. Even though preventing it would tear out their hearts.

The life-long companions touched blades, acknowledging each other. Neither could pull back for the first blow. They stood, eyes locked. Aragorn noticed that Legolas' hand was trembling, and his lips quivered.

Legolas noted that Estel's eyes were shining and watery. He looked away, and cursed himself. Every bone in his body ached; his mind throbbed from shock and astonishment at what he was about to do. But he had to do it to save his friend, his _mellon-nin;_ he _had_ to do it. "Forgive me, Estel."

And thus it began.

They started slowly at first, touching blades lightly together, warming up for the fight of their lives. The combatants circled.

They had sparred together so many times, enjoying each other's company; now, they were trapped, made to end a friend's life in order to save him.

Aragorn rued the day he had been born. In that feeling of anger and woe, he thrust his sword forward.

The elf blocked it easily, and re-balanced himself. Aragorn brought his sword up and flicked his hand, trying to throw the knife out of his opponent's grasp. Legolas was too quick for him. The elf pulled back and let Aragorn's own momentum pull him forward. He shoved Estel, causing him to stumble momentarily.

Aragorn righted himself, shock written on his face. He still couldn't believe it. The elf that had saved his life so many times was now trying to kill him; and he himself was trying to destroy the one he looked to as a brother. His heart sank, but the thought of how it would end came flooding back to him, and he flung himself fully into the fight that lay before him.

They locked swords. First Legolas had the advantage, pressing down on his opponent; now Aragorn got the upper hand, forcing Legolas to back-step to keep his balance.

As their eyes met again, a flood of sorrows poured over them. The rivals trembled with exertion, holding up against each other's strength, but their eyes were steady, though through them each could see they other's broken heart.

Aragorn's eyes were full of pain and sorrow. He spoke first, above the roaring of the crowd. "We're not strong enough to end it! We won't be able to do it!"

Legolas' brows knitted. He held his emotions in check; only his duty to his friend was before his eyes; he couldn't let it happen, he couldn't let the one he loved so dearly die such a cruel death.

Suddenly his eyes darkened and flashed with fury. "I won't let them do it to you!" he screamed. He threw the flat of his hand into Aragorn's abdomen, where the troll's claws had torn the flesh, sending Aragorn backward, reeling in pain. It was a cheap shot he knew, but one that he could live with.

Aragorn clasped his chest and stomach, horror overwhelming him. He knew what Legolas was doing: he was forcing him to fight, forcing him to give it his all, no matter what the consequences. Legolas was forcing him to forget who he was fighting against. It would make it easier to end it.

Without warning, the elf tackled him. Aragorn instinctively drew up his knees, making it harder for his attacker to straddle him.

Legolas grit his teeth with frustration and chocked emotions, and struck him with the butt of his knife. Aragorn's mouth bled, but he could not strike back. Legolas hit him again, harder this time, trying to ram it into Aragorn's head: Fight me!

"FIGHT ME!" the elf begged. "You have to; I can't kill _you_, I have to kill my attacker! Now FIGHT ME!" The Pain was evident in his voice; all of his being screamed at him, but there was no other way; one of them had to die to ease the other's conscience.

Aragorn heard the anguish in his friend's voice, and it was echoed in his own heart. He understood now, they would make it easier on one other if they fought their enemy, not their friend. He must put aside Aragorn, friend of Legolas Greenleaf and just _survive_, for that lost friend' s sake.

It was the hardest thing for him to do, and his heart cried out in ultimate suffering, but he did it for his friend. He fought back.

The blow jolted Legolas back, throwing him to the sand floor. Aragorn in his turn pounced on him, trying to hold the elf down. The crowd loved it.

Legolas brought the knife up in his right hand and drove it deep into Aragorn's left arm.

Aragorn's cry of pain was a delight to the host's ears, and he leaned on the edge of his seat, almost panting with excitement. His fellow clansmen did the same, anxious to see how the fight would play out. An elf and a man, closest of friends turned deadliest of enemies: it was something worth seeing.

Legolas kicked Estel off and pulled away, trying to gain ground as he stood. Aragorn crawled backward, coddling his bleeding arm. Despite what victory for him would mean, Legolas was doing as good as he ever had; Aragorn knew it would not be long before the elf had found an advantage and used it against him. The man's mind raced; failure was not an option.

The combatants eyed each other, sizing each other up. Neither knew how long the other would last, but they were willing to find out, even to the death.

The elven prince trotted towards the fallen man, but Aragorn stood before he reached him. There was no trust in his eyes, and Legolas knew that Aragorn was finally resolved in his mind; it was no longer his friend staring him down. It satisfied Legolas; now, he would not feel guilty taking the man's life.

Aragorn ignored the smarting pain in his arm and steadied himself, eyeing the elf darkly. Holding his sword in front of him, he waited for Legolas' next move, prepared at any moment to strike. They walked toward each other, each apprehensive and wary.

With lightening speed, Aragorn pulled his sword down and to the right, making for the elf's exposed side. The sword hit it's mark, piercing the elf in the side, but Legolas managed to block most of the force and in turn flung all his weight into his blow, throwing Aragorn sideways, his sword behind him. The elf dexterously caught the man's arm, pinning it behind his back. He grabbed Aragorn's sword-hand in the other, and smashed it down on his knee, trying to wrest it from his hand.

The ranger held on to his sword as tightly as possible, but his hand ached from being smashed into his kneecap, and he could not throw the elf, who held him in a locked stance. He had to let go.

The sword fell to the sand with a soft thud. Aragorn found himself thrown face down against the earth, Legolas' strong body pushing him further down. He would not give up, he couldn't, though why he wanted to win he could no longer remember. He searched for Legolas' leg, and dug his fingers into the pressure point on the elf's thigh.

Legolas felt a searing pain creep up his leg. He pulled it back, giving Aragorn room to move. Aragorn's elbow crashed against the side of his head, and he stumbled back, nearly dropping the knife as he did so.

This was all the time the Dunedan needed. He crawled forward, not wasting time in getting up. The sword was just within his reach...only a few more inches...

Legolas was on him again, his knee pressing into his back, an arm around his throat, his hand reaching for Aragorn's outstretched one, both of them scrambling for the sword.

Aragorn began to sweat. He was almost there...there! He had it! No, Legolas pushed it out of his way again. Again he reached, his fingers just touched the silvery hilt...

Finally, Legolas gained the Advantage. He bore down on the ranger, holding his struggling form prostrate to the ground. His knife in his hand, he found Aragorn's throat and pressed the knife against it, forcing Aragorn to hold still. There was a long pause, and Aragorn knew he was defeated. He looked up from his fallen position and saw the sword within mere inches of him.

He had been so close...so close to freeing his friend...

Legolas roughly grabbed his shirt collar and turned him over on his back, looking him in the eye, his knee digging into his ribs and chest. There was nothing he could do...he was helpless, held captive by an elf prince.

Legolas looked down at his conquered enemy...he saw the grief in his gray-blue eyes, the look of sorrow and bewilderment. It moved him, but it was the enemy, the adversary he had fought so hard to defeat. He raised the knife, know-ing he had to end his opponent's life to be declared victor. His muscles tensed, ready to draw back for the fatal blow.

"KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!" the word echoed throughout the stadium. It caught the elf off guard, and for the briefest moment, he remembered. His mind came back to focus, and he saw Estel, "hope", looking up at him, his eyes passive and defeated, waiting calmly for the deathblow.

"KILL! KILL!" the chanting continued. Legolas clutched his bleeding side and looked up to see hundreds of orcs and wild-men chanting, drumming their hands against their seats, anticipating the finale. Legolas gazed down at Aragorn, his eyes filling with silver tears. Yet, he raised his knife once more...

Aragorn tensed, and closed his eyes. 'At least it will be quick,' he thought. He heard Legolas scream in heart-wrenching agony and heard the knife whistling in the air, followed by a soft thud and a weight on his shoulder...

Legolas sobbed. "I cannot do it, Aragorn, I cannot!" Aragorn opened his eyes to see the elf's blonde hair near his face. Legolas wept on his shoulder, his hand still clutching the knife that lay embedded in the sand near Aragorn's face.

The young elf's body shook with emotion and dread at what he had almost done. His other hand clutched at Aragorn collar, his knuckles turning white.

Aragorn looked up at the sky, blue as a sapphire. He lay there, Legolas weeping on him, limp and weak...He had his advantage...He could end it now...The goal was within reach.

Aragorn breathed in deeply. His hand, lying on the ground next to him, clutched around the sand in a fist.

Legolas shifted his position when he felt the ranger inhale, and was suddenly met with sand and dirt flying in his eyes. He was thrown back on his knees, dropping his knife and clutching at his face, not knowing what had happened.

Aragorn dashed forward on his hands and knees, grabbing his sword. He rose quickly and made for the elf, anger and determination flashing in his eyes and flaring in his nostrils. He would not be defeated; his goal was clear and he fulfilled his goals.

He seized his adversary's blonde hair in his hand and put the blade to his throat. He had promised Legolas that he would fight to the death...

Legolas...The name had been forgotten. The elf before him looked familiar again...he was no longer the enemy, he was...

"_Mellon-nin_." The word escaped his lips unasked for.

The elf trembled in his grasp, the emotions refusing to be held in; despair sunk in, as Legolas realized his worst nightmare had come to pass. The tears ran unheeded and unchecked down his fair face, and he closed his eyes as he felt the blade dig into his skin.

It was all over. They had succeeded and failed, they had won and lost.

Aragorn bent over his victim. He could not see his eyes, but he felt the despair gripping hold of the being he held. It pierced him to the heart. He looked up and saw the death-cart, the torches alight in the guards' hands, the oil sitting beside it ready to be used. If only he could spare him...if only he could see him die a quick death...but...it could not come by his hand.

He collapsed next to his friend, throwing his arms around his neck, his dark brow creasing with defeat and despair. "Forgive me, Legolas. I'm sorry! I can't do it!"

Legolas clasped the youth closer to his chest; their hearts and tears mingled together, their sorrows more than either could bear. They had tried...they had tried to give one last gift to the other, one last sign of their love for each other. They had given their all to help the other, and had ended up almost forgetting all they had been through.

The silence that followed was worse than the noise. Without any instruction, the orcs began to pull the cart forward into the center of the arena. The youths could hear the crackling of the flames, the creaking of the cart. But it didn't matter anymore how they died; they were defeated, conquered. No one would ever know what had happened to them, no one would be able to mourn them, ever.

They held each other in their despair and wretchedness, not caring how they died. They had nothing left; their hearts had been poured out to the utmost and their lives were as nothing now. They had given everything for each other, yet now, it was all for naught.

Legolas stood with his back against the wooden beam, silver tears flowing from his closed eyes. He breathed in deeply, knowing that in a moment it would all be over. He had no fear, no sorrow, nothing...he felt nothing. He opened his eyes, and saw that Aragorn was now standing next to him, his hands being tied behind him.

Another post had been quickly set up on the cart, and now Aragorn was pinned against it. He too, feared nothing; he had no regrets, no memories that he regretted having. He looked over at his elven companion, and suddenly, a small smile crept over his face. It had been worth it.

Legolas smiled back sadly. Aragorn's eyes told him he was proud to be his friend. The elf nodded. It had been worth it.

All was prepared. On the terrace, Gal-roond sighed. It had been entertaining, but he had hoped to rejoice in seeing a friend kill a friend. It was so incredible to see. But, he would have to wait another day for that. He lifted his hand, and gave the signal.

All at once, a screech sounded above them. Hundreds of heads shot up like startled deer, including Aragorn and Legolas. A huge shadow loomed over them, momentarily blocking out the sun.

Legolas looked down at the shadow passing before him on the sand, and a grin of amazement lit up his face. "The Eagles!" he breathed to Aragorn.

The eagles swept over the stadium again, making the crowd cower with fear. The largest of the birds glided down into the stadium and tore at the cart, pulling the companions free from their bonds. The others chased orcs and wild-men all over the arena, shrieking with a vengeance. Legolas and Aragorn climbed onto their backs and were suddenly above the arena, looking down on the enormous torture-chamber.

They were free. It all happened so fast they felt for sure they must have been dreaming. But all at once, they began to laugh. It all made sense now.

Gandalf and Gwaihir flew in gently between them. "You're glad to see us, I suppose?"

The youths had no answer; only tears of joy sprang from their eyes. They gazed across the giant birds' wings and eyed each other. Friends to the last, their look seemed to say. At last, beyond all hope...they were going home.

THE END

BUT..._The Road goes ever on and on,_

_Down from the Door where it began,_

_And I must follow if I can..._

_Pursuing it with eager feet, _

_Until it joins some larger way..._

_And whither then? I...cannot say._


End file.
